


Mummy Holmes

by miceenscene



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, F/M, Stillbirth, life stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miceenscene/pseuds/miceenscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Violet Holmes, mother of Sherlock and Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            “I don’t understand why I have to be here.”

            “Well, Ms. Holmes, your son did just commit suicide-”

            “I know _why_ I’m here, Doctor.” Violet snapped.  She paused and collected her emotions. “I don’t understand why my other son seems to think I need to talk to someone about the affair.”

            “Losing a child can be a traumatic experience-”

            “Sherlock is not the first child I’ve lost.”

            “Oh.” Dr. Neely looked down at her notes, thrown a bit off balance.

            “Just because my son chose to end his life does not mean that I will suddenly become mentally unstable and choose to end my own as well. This is not a Shakespearean tragedy.”

            “True, but you are in mourning.  Talking to someone can help to share the burden.” She explained.

            Violet’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “You’re not listening to carry my burden. You’re listening because Mycroft is paying you.”

            “I am a mental health expert, I specialize in grieving.  I know that talking does help, even if it’s not about the death.  We can talk about anything.  Your parents, your childhood.”

            “What good will that do?”

            “Talking always helps.  We can start at the beginning, where were you born?”

            Violet didn’t answer immediately but surveyed the woman sitting in front of her, as if deciding whether or not she would play along. “Fine.  I was born in South France.”

            “Did you grow up there?”

            “No. … I grew up in Paris with my grandparents.”

            “What happened to your parents?”

            Violet raised an eyebrow. “You are blunt, I have to give you that.”

            “…Thank you?” Dr. Neely smiled a bit.

            “I never knew my father, he was apparently a soldier, possibly American, who came through France during the good war.  My mother was an artist…a…bohemian.  She left me with my grandparents when I was less than a year old and went to find my father.”

            “Did she ever return?”

            “No.”

            “I see.” She scribbled down a few notes then looked back up. “So you grew up in France, what brought you to England?”

            “I chose to attend Oxford College, Lady Margaret Hall.  Mostly to escape my grandparents, and…London was always fascinating.”

            “Is that where you met your husband?”

            Violet’s eyes darkened a bit and she looked away from the calm gaze of Dr. Neely. “Yes, that’s where I met Siger.”

           

           

            The leaves had a delightful crunch beneath Violet’s feet as she walked through the grounds of Oxford University.  It was a rather brisk, Saturday morning in mid-November, and Violet just couldn’t bring herself to stay indoors studying any longer.  It was time to get out and investigate the place that she now called home. 

            She hadn’t been walking very long when she came across a large field where a large number of students had gathered.  A game of rugby had been started and if the cheering was any indication, it was an exciting match.  Violet stood off to the side for a minute, never one to be terribly interested in sports, and then continued walking.

            Siger stretched and flashed a smile at the group of girls who had gathered to watch.  He was rewarded with a chorus of squeals, but his eyes were drawn to another girl.  She was walking away, not paying any attention to the game, or him.  He would remedy that, he thought, jogging over to her.

            “Excuse me.” He reached out and tapped her shoulder.  She turned around and her wide brown eyes made the smooth line that he was going to use evaporate in his mind.  He blinked a few times and then held out his hand. “I’m Siger. Siger Holmes.”

            She raised an eyebrow then answered, “I’m Violet.”

           “Oh, you’re French? Or, ah, vous êtes français?” he flashed his smile again, and winked a piercing blue eye at her, waiting to see the inevitable blush on her cheeks. But Violet simply blinked, she had heard about Siger Holmes and the way he was with women and she had no intention of being his next...conquest.

           “No, actually I’m Australian. I just talk like this because I want to.” She leveled him a chilling look and then walked away.

            Siger took a step back and watched her leave.  He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had turned him down so coldly, nor had he ever seen someone muster so much ice into one single look.  Most men would have given up and gone after an easier target, but not Siger.  If there was one thing he liked, it was a challenge.

 

            It took some asking around, but Siger was able to find out which college Violet attended.  As soon as he was done with classes, he would run the mile to Lady Margaret Hall and look for Violet.  After a few days, he found her on a bench, engrossed in a book.  He took a breath and sat down next to her.

            “Hello, Violet.” She looked up from her book and he smiled. “Siger, remember?”

            “Yes.”

            He waited a minute for her to finish her sentence, but it appeared that that was all she was going to say. So he coughed and continued. “So my college, Balliol, is having a dance this Friday night.”

            “That’s nice.” But it didn’t sound very nice at all the way she said it.

            “Would you like to go with me? As my date?”

            “No.” and she turned back to her book.  He blinked and then quickly shifted gears.

            “You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot, how about we start over?” he held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Siger Hol-”

            “Holmes.” Violet snapped her book shut. “I know.  Your reputation precedes you.”

            “Well, my family has been involved with the politics of Britain for many years.”

            “That wasn’t the reputation to which I was referring.” She opened her book but Siger slapped a large hand across the pages.

            “Look, what will it take to get you to let me take you out on a date?” he asked, honestly.  Violet paused for a minute.

            “Maybe if you were polite and sincere and not such a stuck up pig assuming that I will say yes, I would consider it.” 

            Siger retracted his hand and Violet returned to her book.  He sat there for a few minutes, considering what she had said, then began again.

            “Violet?”

            She sighed and looked up at him. “Yes, Siger?”

            “Would you do me the honor of taking you to the dance this Friday night?”

            “That was better.” Violet said, putting her book away in her bag and standing up.

            “Well, would you?”

            “No.” and she started walking away.

            “No?” he shouted after her, standing up.

            She turned around but continued walking away. “I said I would consider it. I didn’t say I’d say yes.”

 

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

            She did end up at the dance, but with another young man, whose name had evaporated from Violet’s mind over the years.  It had been a last minute arrangement through several mutual friends, so she wasn’t terribly excited but hoped that maybe the evening would turn out bearable.  But then whatever his name was abandoned Violet practically the moment they arrived at the dance. 

            She stepped out onto the balcony for a minute, grateful to escape the awkwardness of standing by the side of a dance floor, alone.  It had been a disaster of an evening, she admitted, leaning against the railing.  At least she hadn’t had to deal with-

            “I thought you weren’t going to come.” Siger said, coming up beside her.  She glanced to him then looked away.

            “Last minute arrangement.” She admitted. “Who…left me, the minute we arrived.”

            “Well, he’s a…. idiot. Though you seem to have dealt with quite a few of those recently.”

            Violet let out a laugh and looked at Siger.  God, she was pretty, with the moonlight in her eyes and her curling dark hair against her soft pink dress, he thought. They shared a smile, and then she turned away again.  A few minutes passed in silence before Violet stood up.

             “I think I’m going to go home now.  Good night, Siger.”

             “Wait!” he reached out and touched her arm, but quickly retracted as if he had been shocked. “May …I accompany you back?”

             Violet didn’t answer for a moment, and Siger felt that he was going to be shot down again, but then she said, “Alright.” Violet smiled and began walking away, with Siger quickly following after her.

 

 

             “Come on, I know you can do it. Only a few more steps.” Siger urged, standing at the top of the metal staircase.  Violet, who was gripping the railing with everything she was worth, glared up at him. 

             “Only a few more steps, after the few hundred you’ve already dragged me up.” She grumbled.  Siger merely laughed, taking her hand as she reached the top.

             “You grew up here in France, I still can’t believe this is the first time you’ve been to the top.”

             “I usually prefer to keep two feet firmly planted on the ground.” Violet said, taking a calming breath and trying to enjoy the view, and not think about how high above the ground she was. 

             “Wasn’t this worth it?” Siger asked quietly, a smile in his eyes.  Violet looked up to him and nodded, as he slipped his arm around her.

             “It is beautiful.” She breathed, watching as the lights of Paris twinkled on as the sun set. 

             “If there was a moment that I could freeze and keep forever, it would be this one.” Siger whispered into her hair.  Violet hummed an agreement.

             “I wish you could stay longer.” She murmured.  Siger looked down at her, and took both of her hands in his.

             “Law school will pass quickly enough,” he promised, a light smile on his handsome face.

             “It seems like a lifetime.”

             “Three years is not exactly a lifetime” he began in an amused tone but grew serious, “Not when you have a lifetime to spend together.”

              Violet’s eyes grew wide as she began to understand what he meant.

             “Siger…?” she asked, as he looked away, steadying himself with a breath.

             “Violet.” he began.

             “Yes?” she asked, hardly daring to think or move.  His eyes were filled with fear and joy at the same time as he slowly knelt down on one knee.

             “Violet.  Would you…do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked, pulling out a small black box with a diamond ring inside.  Violet’s mouth dropped open and for a minute, she could hardly breathe.  Then finally she slowly nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

             “Of course.” She said, the smile growing even bigger.  Siger slipped the ring on her finger, and stood up.  His hand cupped her cheek, and he leaned down, gently kissing his future bride.

 

 

             “Ma’am?” the quiet voice of the nurse came from behind the door.  Violet turned from the window and opened the door.

             “Yes, Margot?”

             “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Ma’am, but it’s the baby.  He won’t settle, and you told me to fetch you if I couldn’t quiet him.”

             “Yes, of course.” Violet walked down the dark halls of the Holmes manor.  Siger’s father had died not too long after their wedding, leaving the entire Holmes fortune and estate to the newlyweds.  They had lived there for several years, but Violet still didn’t feel quite at home. 

              She opened the door to the bedroom and was welcomed with the loud wails of her son.

             “Shh, Mycroft, it’s fine.” She cooed, picking him up and holding him close.  She found a natural rocking rhythm as she walked around the room, humming a lullaby from her childhood.  Soon Mycroft quieted, and drifted off to sleep in her arms.  She sat down in the rocking chair and looked out the window, not ready to go to sleep herself.  Siger had gone out to his club, and she found it difficult to sleep without him.

              A while later, the door quietly opened and Siger stepped into the room.  He walked over to his wife and child and gently ran a hand through her hair, stirring her from the doze she had fallen into.

              “Having trouble sleeping?” he asked, kneeling and placing a kiss on Mycroft’s forehead.  Violet nodded and shifted in her seat, trying to stretch out the muscles that had cramped.

              “Did you have a nice time?” she asked.  Siger stood up and didn’t answer for a minute; he was practically shaking with energy. “Are you alright?”

              “I feel like my eyes have been opened, Violet. Like I’m seeing the world for the first time.”

              “What are you talking about?”

              “There was a man at the club tonight, and he was speaking about the most wonderful idea.”

              “Philosophy?”

              “No-well, yes, in a way. He could look at someone and be able to tell almost their whole life story, from one glance. It was like a miracle!” Siger exclaimed.

              “Shh!” Violet looked down to Mycroft who stirred a bit, then settled back into sleep.  She smoothed the wisps of auburn hair on Mycroft’s head that were exactly like his father’s. “Does this miracle have a name?”

              “Deductive Logic.” Siger stated proudly.  Violet’s brows crinkled together.

              “Is it real? Or just a parlor trick?”

              “It’s real.  I’m going to learn it, and teach it to our son.” Siger turned away, picturing all the great deeds his son could accomplish with such a skill. “Imagine not just seeing the world, but observing it, extracting information from every bit of it.” 

               Violet stood up, and placed Mycroft in his crib. “Wouldn’t most people find him insufferable if he could tell so much about them with one look?” she turned back to her husband. “People like to keep their secrets.”

              “Well, they’re idiots.” He came up and gave Violet a gentle kiss. “Our sons will be magnificent.” Siger leaned in for another, but Violet jerked away.

              “Sons?”

              “Well, yes.  Eventually we should have another one, don’t you think?”

               Violet sighed and suddenly felt very tired. “Let’s just go to bed. We can worry about this tomorrow.”

To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

         Mycroft sat on the front steps, sighing and resting his head in his hands.  He had been sitting there all afternoon, and so far no one had driven up the drive.  Nurse Margot had said that Mummy and Father would be returning home today from the hospital.  And that they would have a new baby brother with them. 

         Being only seven, his experience with babies was limited.  And any book he found about the subject in the library was confusing or taken away by Nurse Margot before he could finish it. 

         Mycroft stood up as he saw the car roll up the long drive.  It stopped in front of the house and Father stepped out, a wide smile on his face.

        “Father!” Mycroft cried, running to him and being swept up in a hug. “Where’s the new baby?” Siger laughed.

        “Patience, son, patience. Let’s all go into the house, then we can have a proper introduction.” He reached into the car and helped Violet out of the car.

        “Mycroft.” Violet said, reaching down and squeezing Mycroft with a hug. “Oh, I missed you.” In her arms was a bundle that Mycroft strained to see into. 

         The staff fluttered about, putting away bags and setting Violet down on one of the sofas.  She waved Mycroft over, and he clambered up on the sofa, slowly scooting closer.

        “Mycroft, this is your brother, Sherlock.”

         He was a lot smaller than Mycroft had imagined him being, curling wisps of brown hair over his head.  Sherlock was sucking on his fist rather contentedly.

        “What do you think?” Siger asked, but Mycroft had no words. 

        “Would you like to hold him?” Violet asked, and Mycroft slowly nodded.  A pillow was fetched and soon Mycroft held his little brother in his arms.  Sherlock’s eyes opened and he stared up at his big brother with that unfathomable expression that babies have.  Mycroft smiled a little.

        “You’ll take good care of him, won’t you, Mycroft?” Siger asked.  Mycroft nodded fiercely.

        “Yes, Father.”

        “Good man.”

 

 

         Sherlock pushed the door open the slightest bit and peered through the crack.  The room appeared to be empty, except for the table set up with many sweets for his mother’s garden party.  He opened the door and as quietly as a 5-year-old can, snuck up to the table and shoved a pastry into his mouth.  However, he didn’t see Violet and Mrs. Willis sitting on a couch on the opposite side of the room.

         “Sherlock.” Violet warned. He turned around, with a mouth full of pastry. “I told you to stay out of this room.”

         He hung his head and muttered something about Mycroft sending him on his mission.  Violet shared a smile with her friend.

        “You may each have one.” Sherlock looked up and smiled, quickly grabbing two pastries and scuttling out of the room.  Marissa Willis chuckled as she watched him leave.

        “He’s certainly growing up quickly.” She commented.

        “Oh, they both are.  Mycroft turned 12 this year, seems like just yesterday he was a baby-Oh.” Violet grimaced and rubbed a hand over her pregnant stomach, as she felt a sharp pain.

        “Are you alright?”

        “Fine.” She answered absent-mindedly. “I’m fine.”

        “Are you certain?”

        “I’m fine.” She repeated.

        “You’re not…” Marissa began, looking rather uncomfortable. “Well, are you absolutely certain you are medically fine?”

        “Ah, yes.  I’m sure it’s just-” she paused again, grimacing again and continued, “-just indigestion.”

         Marissa nodded, but still not completely at ease. “So…is Mycroft still working with his tutor?”

        “No. He’s already started at the school Siger attended when he was a boy.  And Sherlock has begun working with Mycroft’s former teac-” The pain almost seemed to double this time, and Violet hissed in a breath.  She looked up and almost couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at Marissa’s scared expression. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say this these were labor…pains…” Violet stopped speaking as another wave of pain began, and a feeling of terror replaced the pain.

        “But…you’re not anywhere near your due date.  Isn’t it almost five months from now?”

         Violet cried out and almost doubled over clutching her stomach, the terror was growing.  The maid came running into the room.

        “Are you alright, Ma’am?” she asked.  Violet couldn’t speak, but let out a moan.

        “No, she’s not. Ready the car, she needs to be taken to the hospital.” Marissa said, grabbing Violet’s hand.

        “Right away, Ma’am.” The maid said, running out of the room.

        “Someone needs to phone Siger.” Violet managed in between moans, reaching out and grappling for Marissa’s hand.

        “We will. Don’t worry.” Marissa soothed, running her other hand over Violet’s forehead. 

         Sherlock returned to the room, intending to sneak away a few more pastries, but was met with a large group of the household staff attending to his mother who was still moaning with pain.  His small 5-year-old world began to shake at the foundations, Mummy wasn’t supposed to be the one crying.  That was what he did, and she fixed it.

        “Mummy?” he asked in a small voice.

        “The car’s ready.” One of the butlers said, and the group began moving his mother out of the room.

        “Mummy?” he called louder this time.

        “Siger has been alerted. He will meet you at the hospital-”

        “Breathe, Mrs. Holmes-”

        “Mummy?!”

        “I have blankets-”

        “Careful with-”

        “Mummy!” Sherlock shouted, stopping at the front door, as the group helped his mother into the car.  Somehow even through the crowd of people and the roar of sheer terror, Violet heard him.  She looked over, reaching out a hand, and he rushed to her side.

        “What’s wrong, Mummy?” he asked, tears forming in his eyes.

        “It’ll be alright, Sherlock. I promise you. Everything will be fine.” She told him.  One of the maids picked him up and carried Sherlock back into the house.  He twisted around to watch the car speed down the drive.  Somehow he knew that she was wrong.

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

           “I’m so very sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.  There was nothing we could do.” The doctor paused. “It was simply too early for her to survive.”

           Violet sat in the bed; staring at the sheet she was twisting but not really seeing anything.  Siger stood as a silent sentinel by the window, hands clasped behind his back and a deep frown forming on his face. 

           The Doctor looked between the two.

           “I’ll take care of everything.” He promised, resting a hand on the nearby cradle, intending to remove it from the room.

           “Wait!” Violet cried, suddenly awakening from her stupor. “Please, leave her.”

           “Violet.” Siger said from the window.  But she paid no attention, eyes fixed on the doctor.

           “Please, just for an hour. That’s all I ask.”

           The Doctor glanced to Siger then nodded, promising to be back in an hour as he left the room.

           Violet looked down at the small, pale form of her daughter for a minute, before carefully picking her up.  The nurses had wrapped her in a pale pink blanket, and Violet gently extracted a small hand, holding her finger to the palm.  Somewhere inside a small shred hoped that the tiny fingers would grasp tightly and she would cry out. 

           But she didn’t move.

           Violet tucked the hand back into the wrap, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

           “Violet.” Siger began, slowly approaching from the window.

           “She still needs a name.” Violet said, tracing the slopes of her daughter’s face.

           “Violet, this isn’t healthy.” Siger whispered.  Violet looked up, pain and sheer determination in her eyes.

           “She needs a name.” she insisted.  Siger frowned deeper and looked away from his wife, not able to bring himself to even look at his daughter.  Violet looked back down at her, and suddenly the name came to her. “Elizabeth…after your mother. And Marie, after mine.  Elizabeth Marie Holmes.”

           “Violet, don’t.” Siger repeated again, shaking his head and managing to look at Violet. “How will this help?”

           “It will give me a name to say good-bye to.”

 

 

          “I’m so sorry.” Dr. Neely said, as Violet stopped.  She glanced up to the Doctor.

          “It was a very long time ago.” She said, brushing a strand of silver hair out of her face. 

          “How did your family handle the loss?”

          Violet paused and almost smiled. “Not well, I suppose.  Sherlock, and Mycroft needed their mother; and-” She took in a breath. “Siger needed his wife, but I wasn’t there.  I couldn’t, it was like an actual force or being that was always there.  Making it impossible to do anything, anything at all.”

 

 

           It’s strange how much death can transform a household; Mycroft mused as he walked along the garden path.  Even the death of someone who was never truly alive had catastrophic impacts.  Not that anyone would actually acknowledge it, which was the strangest part to Mycroft.  It had taken several days of snooping on the household staff’s conversations for him to gather any information.  Mummy would have told him, but he hadn’t seen Mummy since she came back from the hospital.  She had kissed him and Sherlock and then locked herself away in her room, only coming out for the burial.  That was three weeks ago.  Father hadn’t been around much either, staying away at the office more than he ever had before. 

           A twig snapped behind him, and Mycroft stopped.

          “What, Sherlock?” he asked, turning around.  Sherlock had attempted to hide behind one of the statues. “I can see you.”

           Sherlock peeked his head out, and slowly crawled from behind the statue.  His left knee was scraped and a small trickle of blood leaked down his leg.  Mycroft sighed and walked closer to his sniffling brother.

          “What happened?”

          “I-I fell-” a few more sniffles escaped “Off-off my b-b-bike.” A couple tears rolled down his face.

          “Stop crying.” Mycroft ordered, a bit more sternly than he meant. “It’s not bad, just needs a plaster.” He amended, holding out his hand.  Sherlock took it and they began walking towards the house.

          “Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, his tears finally subsiding.

          “What?”

          “What happened to Mummy?”

          Mycroft frowned because even he didn’t quite understand what had happened, “Ask Nurse Margot.”  

         “I did, and she said I was a wicked boy for asking…but Father always said questions were good.”

         “I-I don’t know, Sherlock.”

         “Who’s Eliza?”

         “Our sister.”

         “But…we don’t have a sister.”

         “Exactly.” Mycroft answered, and though Sherlock was extremely confused he felt that he shouldn’t ask any more questions if he wanted Mycroft’s help.

         Mycroft opened the large glass door and walked into the garden room.  The house was eerily quiet, as if everyone had been tiptoeing around.  He pulled Sherlock down the hall and into the nearest bathroom.

         “Sit on the counter.” He said, rummaging through the closet for a washcloth.  Sherlock knew to turn on the tap, and fill the sink with warm soapy water.  He swished his hands through the water and blew a few bubbles.

         “Look!” he said, smiling and popping one.  Mycroft grabbed a washcloth, but accidently knocked a basket filled with medicine onto the floor with a loud crash.  Pill bottles rolled across the floor, and the two froze as they waited for someone to come running.  But luck appeared to be on their side, as the minutes ticked by and no one found them.

          Mycroft washed the blood off of Sherlock’s knee, and applied a plaster.

         “There.” Mycroft said, rinsing out the cloth and hanging it to dry.  But Sherlock didn’t move.

         “Mummy always kisses it.” He said in a small voice, looking up at his big brother.

         “I’m not going to kiss your knee.  Stop being such a baby.” Mycroft grumbled, his charity having run out for the time being.  He left the room, and Sherlock hopped off the counter, running after his brother.

         “Where are you going?”

         “The Library.”

         “Can I come?”

         “You can’t read.” Mycroft said, storming down the hall.

         “I can learn!” Sherlock insisted.

         “I’m not teaching you.”

         “I don’t need you to teach me. I can do it myself!”

         “No you can’t.”

         “Yes I can!”

         “No you can’t!”

         “Yes I can!” Sherlock shouted.  The door next to them opened, stopping the argument immediately.  Their mother looked down at them, Mycroft immediately noticed how tired she looked, even though she had been in her room for weeks.

         “Mummy!” Sherlock cried, wrapping his arms about her lower half.  She slowly looked down at him, almost like she wasn’t seeing either of them.  As if sensing something was wrong, Sherlock let go and looked up at her. “Mummy, will you come to the library and teach me to read?”

          She didn’t answer, but retreated into the room and shut the door.  Sherlock blinked a few times and looked to Mycroft, who was staring at the door.

         “Mycroft?” he asked, hoping that he could explain something.  Mycroft glanced down to Sherlock then began walking away again.

         “Come on, Sherlock. Let’s go to the library…I’ll teach you to read.”

 

To Be Continued...


	5. Chapter 5

        “They needed comfort, and I couldn’t provide it.  So they found it elsewhere.  Sherlock and Mycroft, in their books, and Siger,” Violet paused again. “…In his secretary.  I believe her name was Katherine, or Kaitlyn, or something.”

        “You’re not to blame for your husband’s choices.”

        “I am well-aware of this fact.”

 

 

         Siger opened the door to his dark study and entered the room.  He dropped his case on the desktop and draped his coat over the chair.  He looked up and about jumped out of his skin when he saw Violet standing nearby.

         “Jesus, Violet. You about-”

         “How long?” she asked.  He frowned and stepped back.

         “What do you mean?”

         “How long have you been with her?” she asked, deep brown eyes narrowing.  Siger felt a chill run through him. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “And by with, I mean, how long have you been shagging your secretary?”

          Her voice never rose above conversational tone, but it was frightening enough.  Siger looked away from her, opening up his briefcase.

         “I don’t know what you’re talki-” She slammed the case shut, barely missing his fingers.

         “You know that deductive logic you were so keen to teach the boys? Well, it’s come _very_ in handy.  You say you’re working late, and when I call, they say you left hours ago.  You won’t look me in the eye, let alone touch me.”

         “Well, that is circumstantial evid-”

          Violet picked up a shirt of Siger’s that she had brought with her, throwing it at him. “That’s not my perfume, nor my shade of lipstick on the collar.”

          Siger fingered the shirt, glancing up at her then back down. “I see you’ve thought this through.”

         “Damn right I have.” Violet said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that you would do this.  Do this to me.  To Mycroft, and Sherlock, your SONS!” Her voice finally rising to a loud shout.

         “What would you have me do?!” Siger snapped, coming around the desk to stand directly in front of Violet. “Live on in a loveless, lifeless marriage?! This is the most alive I’ve seen you in months!! What would you have me do?!”

         “I would have you tell me!” Violet shouted back. “Not run off and shag the first pretty skirt you see! It’s despicable!” Siger rolled his eyes and stepped away. “Your father would have been ashamed!”

          He snapped back around, and there was a fire in his eyes. “Don’t you dare bring him into this!”

         “Why not?!”

         “Because I am your husband and I said so.”

         “No.” Violet said, calmly gathering her emotions back together.  She turned to the desk and picked up a folder, holding it out to Siger. “I’m done.”

          Siger looked between her and the folder, before snatching it out of her hand and glancing over the contents.

         “You cannot be serious. Divorce? No, this is not happening.”

         “What would you have me do?” Violet replied, bitterly. “Live on in a loveless, lifeless marriage?” she turned and walked to the door.

         “You realize the press will have a field day with this?” Siger called, holding up the folder. “Our family’s reputation will be in pieces.”

          Violet turned back to look at him.

         “I know.”

          She closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath and steeling her nerve.  She walked down the hallway and found Sherlock sitting in the shadows of the hallway.

         “Mummy?” he asked, looking up at her with wide blue eyes, Siger’s eyes.  Violet sucked in another breath, attempting to hide everything that she was feeling.  She knelt down and picked him up.

         “You should be in bed, Sherlock.” She said, quietly, walking down the hall.

         “Are you leaving, Mummy?” he asked, resting his head on her shoulder.

         “Never, Sherlock.  I’ll always be here.”

         “Promise?”

         “Promise.”

To Be Continued...


	6. Chapter 6

       “I got everything.”

       “Everything?” Dr. Neely asked, eyebrows rising.  Violet nodded.

       “What judge was going to go against a woman who just recently lost a child, and now had a cheating husband?” Violet sat back in her seat. “The press, of course, turned it into a huge fiasco.  The Holmes name has never been quite the same since.  I didn’t want to live in the house any longer, couldn’t stand the sight of it.  So I sold the estate and most of its contents, bought a house in the country.  I pulled Mycroft out of school.” She smiled. “I don’t think Mycroft has ever quite forgiven me for that.  They were both tutored at home till they went to Oxford, both of them graduating with honors, despite…circumstances.”

       “Circumstances?”

 

 

        It was Christmastime, a gentle snow falling outside on the lawn as Sherlock knocked on the oak door.

       “Come in.” his mother’s voice came from the other side.  He opened the door and stepped stiffly into the library.  Violet was sitting behind the desk, engrossed in a book.  She looked up, over her glasses at Sherlock, and suddenly Sherlock realized that she knew.

       “Sherlock.” She said, a slight smile on her face. “Please sit.” She gestured to one of the couches.  He sat calmly, but his mind was racing with a way to solve this new problem.  Violet approached with a small box, she handed it to Sherlock as she sat down next to him.

        He opened the box, stiffening as he saw what was inside.  He didn’t move so Violet reached over and extracted the item.  It was a used syringe.

        There were several minutes of silence between Violet and Sherlock.  He memorized the box and Violet searched his face.

       “How long have you known?” he asked finally.  Violet didn’t answer for a minute.

       “Several months now.” She said, Sherlock’s head snapping up in alarm. “You thought that it was a random search of your room, didn’t you?”

       “They never found anything.”

       “They’re not your mother.” She paused for another minute before continuing. “But this, this was simply the final proof.  I’d known the minute I saw your face.  Your eyes betray you.”

        Sherlock looked up, meeting his mother’s unnervingly calm gaze.

       “They were not the eyes of my son, but a monster consumed with one desire.”

        She waited, a part of her hoping that he would realize his problem and ask for help.  But there was no shame, no apology, only hard resistance.  His mouth set in a firm line, much like how Violet always set her own.  She sighed, replacing the syringe to the box and standing up.

       “I see that you are not willing to make a change.” She said, placing the box on the desk.  “That is…” she took a deep breath, willing her voice to remain calm and collected. “That is fine.” She turned around to look at him, a lone tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. “But I will not enable you.  If you want to destroy your life, you will pay for it.”

        Sherlock took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers.

       “You don’t understand.” Sherlock said, shaking his head.

       “Don’t understand what, precisely?”

       “You don’t understand my life, how hard it is.  You couldn’t possibly know.” Sherlock said, looking up at her. “No one understands, or is there.”

       “You think I don’t know how hard life is?” Violet asked, another tear falling and a rueful smile on her face. “How hard it is to go through life alone?”

       Sherlock didn’t answer, but looked away again, continuing to shake his head.

       “You are welcome here, Sherlock. But your vices are not.”

       That seemed to be the final straw for Sherlock as he stood up abruptly.

       “Good night.” He said, walking towards the door.  Just before the door shut, he heard his mother’s quiet voice,

       “Good-bye, son.”

 

 

        Dr. Neely looked up from her notes.

       “Have you seen your son since?”

       “He comes to Christmas dinners, occasionally, but it has never been the same, even after he sobered.  Though Mycroft helps me to keep tabs on Sherlock, he was a fairly successful detective till his…suicide.” Violet’s voice grew softer.

       “Do you know why it happened?”

       “He was publicly shamed, his reputation in tatters.  Apparently he’d hired an actor to pretend to be a criminal mastermind, and…Sherlock would commit the crimes then solve them.” Violet said, keeping any emotional inflection out of her voice. “It all appeared in the papers and he jumped off of a hospital rooftop.” 

 

 

       “Sir?”

        Mycroft looked up from the papers on his desk, “Yes, Anthea?”

       “It’s Sherlock.”

       “Oh, God. What’s he done now?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, not sure what to expect from his little brother.  But Anthea didn’t answer immediately.

       “You need to see this tape.” She said, holding out a tablet computer.  Mycroft took it from her, eyebrows knitting together.  He pressed play and watched in silent horror.  He stopped the video before Sherlock hit the ground, placing the tablet on the desk and looking away. “I’m sorry, Sir.” Anthea said, quietly.

       Mycroft didn’t say anything for several minutes, remaining completely still with his eyes closed.   Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

       “Clear my appointments for the rest of the day, Anthea.” He stood up, grabbing his coat. “And call a car.  I have somewhere I need to be.”

       The countryside rolled past, and Mycroft watched without seeing.  The house came into view and he quickly walked up the steps.

       “Mr. Holmes.” One of the maids said, sounding a bit startled.

       “Where’s my mother?”

       “She’s in the library.”

        Mycroft quickly strode away.  He opened the door and Violet looked up from her book.

       “Mycroft? What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately noticing his expression.  He took a breath and gestured to the chairs.  “No, tell me now.”

       “It’s…Sherlock.”

        Violet froze, staring at Mycroft. “What happened?”

        Mycroft took another breath and tried to think of a way to release the news gently. “Is he dead?” she asked.  He looked up and nodded solemnly. “How?”

        “He …jumped.”

        “When?”

        “Earlier today.”

        “I see.” Violet said, turning away and returning a book to the shelf. 

        “Are you alright?” Mycroft asked, feeling distressed at her lack of reaction.

        “Do you have footage of the event?” she asked, ignoring his question.  He held out the tablet and Violet watched the video.  Mycroft still glanced away before the end.  She wordlessly handed the computer back and walked away again.

        “Mummy?” Mycroft asked.  She looked calmly towards her son.

        “Yes, Mycroft?”

        “Are you…alright?” he asked again.

        “I’m fine.”

 

 

        “How are you feeling?”

        “Fine.” Violet replied, after a minute not meeting the doctor’s gaze. “Mycroft seems oddly guilty about it though.”

        “Are you sure?”

        “About Mycroft’s guilt?”

        “No. How you’re feeling.  Losing Sherlock must have opened up some very old injuries.”

         Violet shook her head. “I lost Sherlock a long time ago.”

         The clock on the desk struck the hour. “I’m afraid we’re out of time.  Shall we schedule another appointment?”

         Violet stood and picked up her handbag. “I do not think that will be necessary, Dr. Neely.  Thank you for your time.”

         Dr. Neely watched as Violet calmly exited the office.  It was strange that even after hearing most of her life story, she felt that she hardly knew the woman.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow


	7. Epilogue

        “Ms. Holmes, welcome back.” The maid said, curtsying and taking Violet’s jacket and coat.

        “Any messages?”

        “None, ma’am. Would you care for tea?”

        “No, thank you, Lindsey.  I will be in the library.”

        “Yes, ma’am.”

         A light rain drizzled outside as Violet opened the door to the dark library.  The door shutting echoed through the room as she walked over to a light on a table.  She paused before turning it on, looking to her right.

        “Sherlock.” She said, calmly.  Sherlock reached over and turned on the lamp on the table next to the chair he was sitting in.

        “Hello, Mum.”

         Violet straightened up and looked down at her son.

        “You look exhausted, but I suppose death can be rather trying on a person.”

        “You’re not surprised?” Sherlock asked, looking up.  A small smile crossed Violet’s lips.

        “For a moment, I thought…maybe…but Mycroft showed me the CCTV footage.”

        “Mycroft believes me to be dead.”

        “Yes, but Mycroft is not your mother.”

         At that Sherlock had to smile, a small one. 

        “Though I will say,” Violet continued, sitting in the chair nearest to Sherlock “It was very clever. Who helped you?”

        “A…friend. A pathologist from Bart’s.”

        “So is the Moriarty still alive?”

        “As far as I can tell, no.  But his legacy remains, and it requires attention.”

        “You aren’t staying.” Violet stated, not bothering to ask it as a question.

        “No.”

        “What about John?” She asked.  Sherlock didn’t answer, and wouldn’t meet his mother’s gaze.  “He wasn’t part of your ruse.”

        “No, he was not.”

         A few minutes of silence passed between the pair, many unspoken words floating in the air.  Words that would never be spoken.  Violet stood up,

         “I will have the staff stay away from your old room, and the cook usually retires around 9 every night, so the kitchen will be clear then.” She said simply, and stepped away. 

         “Mum?” Sherlock said, turning slightly in his chair.  Violet turned back.

         “Yes, dear?”

         He paused, took a breath and said, “Thank you.”

         She reached out, and gently touched his cheek. For a moment she could swear that she saw him as a four-year-old boy, with a skinned knee and any manner of creature caught in his curls.  But she blinked and he became a man again, with problems and demons much darker than any she had faced.

         “If only I could still kiss it, and make your problems disappear.” She said, smiling a bit.  Sherlock didn’t respond, so she quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Be safe, my brilliant boy.”

         Violet straightened and took one last look at him, before turning for the door.  Just before the door closed behind her, she heard him reply,

         “I will, Mummy.”


End file.
